


Perfect and Awful

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Hogwarts Era, Hurt/Comfort, The Quidditch Pitch: From Diagon Alley to Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-13
Updated: 2007-02-13
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: An angry spat with Ron leads to a discussion between Neville and Ginny.  Ginny Weasley is nobody's whore.





	Perfect and Awful

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: HBP missing moment.  


* * *

Ginny plopped down next to Neville, who had been diligently working on his Potions essay. They sat against a secluded corner of the deserted Gryffindor common room, cross-legged on the ground. He set his parchment aside-it was rather late in the evening, anyway-and turned to face Ginny and her obvious distress.   
  
"Hello...is everything all right?"  
  
"Neville," she started. "Do-d'you think I'm pretty?"  
  
He flushed faintly at the personal nature of the question, but nodded. "Just ask any boy in my year-hell, any boy in any year-and they'd tell you the same. Why would you even need to ask me?"  
  
She looked at her knees, where they pressed against her chest (oh God, her _chest_ , which he tried not to dwell on).  "Well, the truth is...I think you're the only boy in your entire year who treats me like a real friend." The last word was spoken in a broken whisper, and Neville fought the urge to reach out to her. "The other boys...they just think of me as an easy mark, you know? A girl who's been passed around..."  
  
"That's not true!" he exclaimed. But he knew better, knew she spoke the truth. And, if he was willing to admit it to himself, he was also guilty of thinking so.  
  
"Please," she scoffed. "Everyone thinks I'll sleep with anything that moves, never mind that I've had all of two boyfriends in my entire life." She furiously wiped away a tear. "God, even my own brother..."  
  
"What did he do? Oh Ginny, that's sick..." Neville's stomach twisted in revulsion and shock. Would Ron really...  
  
"NO! Nothing like that. Ugh, Neville, that's disgusting."  
  
He flushed, but said nothing in his own defence-after all, it was a logical deduction, and she hadn't really been clear.  
  
"So," he finally spoke, after an awkward pause. "So, what did he do to you-er, do to upset you-anyway?"  
  
"He...he called me a slag! Nearly shouted it into the passageway, for anyone to hear. In front of Harry, even. Like he didn't care about my feelings, like-like _whatever_ I did with _any_ of my boyfriends was his business in the first place!"  
  
By now Neville had garnered enough courage to touch her, and was slowly stroking the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. "What did you say to him?" he questioned tentatively, more to let her know he cared than out of any pressing desire to know.  
  
"Well, he's never so much as kissed a girl, and I told him to go get some snogging of his own done. That way, he wouldn't mind so much that everyone else does it."  
  
Neville was smiling slightly now, eyes shining in admiration. "You didn't..." he breathed. "You can't say things like that to an inexperienced bloke like Ron. It'd... _emasculate_ him!"  
  
Ginny chuckled ruefully. "Reckon he wouldn't mind Hermione re-masculating him, anyway. And I suppose you'd know how inexperienced blokes think?"

 

"What? No! Er, I mean...that is..." Neville was blushing like mad now, and though Ginny's face still bore traces of sadness, her eyes were crinkling with mirth at the corners. He decided that if he couldn't alleviate her pain, the best he could do was distract her with tales of his own humiliation.  
  
"Tell me, Neville..." she asked, "where did you happen to get all this experience, hmm?" 

 

He mumbled something unintelligible. 

 

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Ginny asked.  
  
"There were two girls, actually. Just two." He closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead, and leaned his head against the wall, trying to quell his embarrassment. "The first...it was behind the willow tree, one summer. With a neighbor's daughter, at my gran's house. We'd been sitting in the grass, just talking, and then there was this quiet that came over us. And all of a sudden she just yanked me, like this-" he made a head-sized grab at the air "-and sort of _pushed_ her lips against mine. It was kind of slimy, to tell you the truth. And gross. Not to mention it sort of stung, a little, what with her mouth shoving my lip against my teeth...it was a bit shocking for a nine-year-old to take."  
  
She was giggling uncontrollably now, head between her knees to muffle the laughter. "I'm sorry, it's just...too funny. I can picture it all in my mind, just the way you described it." 

 

Neville joined her then, and together they laughed at his recollection of the first kiss he'd ever gotten. It was absurdly funny, in a way. Slowly, her sniggers abated, and once she had regained control of her lungs, she asked another question.  
  
"Who was the second, then?"  
  
His heart stopped. "Wh-what do you mean?" he stalled, looking at the ceiling, his trainers-anywhere but at her.  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Your second kiss, Neville. You said there were two, remember?"  
  
He blinked, wounded. Surely she must have remembered...but no, her eyes did not register any comprehension, and he looked away dejectedly.   
  


"Sorry, Ginny," he said, picking at the dirt particle wedged under his thumbnail. "I didn't mean to take over the conversation. We were talking about you, right?" But she was not to be deterred.  
  
"Never mind me," she said, giving him a little half-smile. "I'm curious now. Who was the second kiss?"  
  
"It's not important." This couldn't be happening. Not now, not ever.  
  
"Neville. Do you trust me, or do you not?" She bit her lip earnestly, and he had to fight the instinct to look away. If he kept her gaze, he feared she'd see thing he had no intention of letting her see, ever.   
  
"Honest to God, Ginny...I do, I really do." And he meant it, too; he'd never spoken about things like this with Ginny, but it didn't make him feel awkward at all. It felt nice, somehow, sitting against a wall and telling her things he'd never told anyone before.  
  
"Then what's the problem?"  
  
"You."  
  
"Huh?" Her confusion was apparent, as were her hurt feelings. Utterly flustered, she made to get up. "I thought you said you could tru-I mean, I thought we were-never mind, I'll just go now."  
  
"Wait!" he urged, placing a hand on her elbow. "I-I didn't mean it like that. Please don't go." She relaxed again, though she meticulously avoided his pleading stare.  
  
"Then," she whispered, "then what did you mean?"  
  
"It was you. You were the second kiss, Ginny." He searched her face for any trace of awkwardness, but she simply cocked her head to one side and asked him something.  
  
"When? I don't remember any..."  
  
"My fourth year. I asked you to the ball, and you said yes-I never in a million years thought you'd say yes to me-and at the end of the night, after we'd taken a walk around the lake, you kissed me on the lips and said ‘Thank you for a wonderful night, Neville.' Then you walked away, towards the castle, and left me there to watch you walk away. You were beautiful, you know. Are beautiful." With every sentence his voice had grown softer, and the last word was barely spoken above a whisper. He looked away again, fearing that he'd wrecked the only real connection he'd ever make with her.  
  
"Neville," she said, awed. "I can't believe you remembered all that." Her eyes were wide, glazed over by a thin sheen of moisture. "I didn't-I never knew..."  
  
"Yeah, well..." he scratched the back of his neck uneasily, hoping to dissolve some of the tension that had crept between them. "It prob'ly wasn't much of a kiss for you...not quite like what you've had since. And I mean with Michael or Dean...not half the boys in school. I know you're not like everyone says, you know that...but..." he paused for a moment, unsure. "But I guess it really was just a silly peck, yeah? Sorry for bringing it up like this." He felt even more self-conscious when she said nothing to dispel his growing apprehension.  
  


"Oh, Neville..." she leaned her cheek into his shoulder, and he gulped. "I didn't know you felt that way."  
  
"Feel," he affirmed. "Feel that way. Still-I still do. Felt it ever since third year, when you first set foot in our dorm, looking for Ron because he'd been a right foul git to Hermione about that ‘adorable, misunderstood cat of hers.' I'd seen the poor cat, you know, and I knew he wasn't easy to love. But right then I figured, if you could learn to like a mangy old beast like Crookshanks, you'd maybe...might've been able to fall for...me."  
  
"Ahem," she coughed. Her eyes were still glistening, yet there was a glimmer of something else lurking just beyond his reach.   
  
"What?" he asked, a bit defensively. After all, hadn't he just poured his heart out to her? What was she doing, just sitting there? Shouldn't she be appalled, or outraged, or disgusted?  
  
"You've done entirely too much talking."  
  
Damn, he really should have been more considerate. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I just kept rambling on without any regard for your feelings and I hope you'll forgive me but I just couldn't help myself, the truth all came out and I-"  
  
"Shh," she cooed, placing a digit over his lips and effectively silencing him. "I promise not to yank your face off."  
  
"Uhh..."  
  
"You're right. What we had...that wasn't anywhere near a real kiss." His shoulders slumped, but she smiled slyly yet shyly. Only she could pull off such a paradox. And she continued, leaning imperceptibly closer with every passing moment. She was millimeters away. "This...this is a real kiss."  
  
For the second time in as many years, her lips gently brushed his. For some reason, it felt different than before-and he could recall nearly every single detail of that night. Perhaps it was in her intent, which he could somehow intuit through pressure and sensation. Or maybe it was the fact that, as in every single fantasy he'd ever had of a moment like this, Ginny's very real breasts-practically nonexistent at the time of the original kiss-were crushed against his own chest, sending little shocks of pleasure straight to his groin.   
  
He began to kiss her back, rather ineptly he suspected, but she seemed to be enjoying it. Her lips only pressed harder, and her hands began to wander his chest and shoulders. A cry escaped him, and he was vaguely embarrassed that he'd made such a noise. She deepened the kiss then, and her tongue traced his lips before slipping between his slightly parted lips. Oh God, her tongue...it was the oddest feeling, slightly slippery and oh-so-hot against the roof of his mouth, but he never wanted it to end. There was something _delicious_ about the feel of his tongue against hers, and he wondered if it was possible for her to even be half as aroused as he was. His hands had been doing their own wandering, up her sides and around the curve of her breasts. She was practically straddling his lap now, and all he could think was _oh my, she's sucking on my tongue and I think I might come in my pants any second now_.  
  
Then Ginny settled herself right there over his crotch, breaking away from the kiss to gasp loudly. His cheeks burned with mortification. What kind of pervert must she think him?  
  
A small shiver, part pleasure and part fear, assaulted his spine as he realized how utterly virginal he was compared to her. He couldn't hope to match her boyfriends' combined sexual prowess-bloody hell, she had a boyfriend!   
  
"Bugger it all, Ginny...I'm so sorry...I shouldn't have-you-Dean-ohh, yes-"   
  
Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the roaring in his ears as she ground her hips into his over and over, causing him to stiffen more than he'd ever thought possible. His hands slid from her back to her arse, squeezing her tightly against him. Shit, this wasn't right...they weren't even...she deserved more...but soon all thought was erased as well as she shuddered, let out a low but intense whine, whimpered his name, and went still. Neville was still acutely aware of her pelvis pressed against his, however, and tried to ease her off of his lap.   
  
"Oh, no you don't," she murmured into his ear, licking the lobe as she pulled her head away. His hands had been at her forearms to guide her off of him, and she shook them off and gently placed them on her breasts. Even over her jumper, he thought he'd never felt anything as soft and luscious. They filled his hands neatly, and he moaned as she resumed the rapid thrusting of her hips. Once, twice, then again and again until the fifth push, where he arched his back, cried "Yes!" and sank against the wall, boneless and spent. Ginny rolled off him, landing beside him so his left arm and her right could rest comfortably against each other. He couldn't think. Now, all he felt was the stickiness in his trousers and the twinge of wonder at what had just taken place.   
  
This wasn't how he imagined it. Even in his deepest, most primal fantasies, it hadn't happened like this. There would be some kind of declaration, a bit of snogging, and in his mind he would cut forward a few months, sometimes years, to things like this. In his dreams they would take time, fumbling at each other's bodies and not caring about the ineptitude. Yet this was nothing like that. The most pleasurable experience of his life had just left him empty inside, longing for something he couldn't quite name. Their breathing had begun to slow by now, and he spoke.  
  
"I...um, thank you." He didn't know what else to say. He started an apology, a nervous "I'm sorry," but she silenced him with the same finger she'd used earlier.  
  
"I wanted to. And if you wanted to, I'm not sorry at all."  
  
He nodded mutely, as she rose to her feet and straightened her rumpled skirt. She walked proudly and erectly towards the Gryffindor boys' dormitories, back to Dean, _back to the boy it should have been_ , Neville thought with a bitter smile. After a few steps, she paused and glanced at him over her shoulder.  
  
"Just so you know, Neville...it was my first time, too."  
  
And, like a cruel sort of déjà vu, he watched her slip away again.  
  
 

 


End file.
